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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055427">Pangs that Tempt the Spirit to Rebel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker'>lonelywalker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Particularly Bad Period in History [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miracle Workers (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Power Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, coda to 2x06, wildly anachronistic fantasy history</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:39:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kings don’t get fucked by lords. But students do get fucked by tutors, and soldiers by captains…” </p><p>Vexler squinted up at him as Cragnoor briskly pulled away the rest of his clothes. It was like trying to track expenses on an abacus while a prince droned on in your ear about the social lives of ducks. “And friends by other friends. So how hard and fast are you going to come with my cock in your ass, Ethan?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>King Cragnoor/Lord Chris Vexler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Particularly Bad Period in History [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pangs that Tempt the Spirit to Rebel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The music and laughter drove him away in the end. These festivals and parties had never seemed made for him, not even when he was as dirt-poor as any other cheerfully-tipsy peasant linking arms, not even when Chauncley in his princely finery could be welcomed and cheered as he stumbled through some clumsy jig. Years ago, he’d assumed it was because he never had a partner (and what were wives and husbands for, if not to keep you company at these things?). Now he regularly slept in the arms of his lover, and still stood apart, with his gentlemanly garments and bag of skulls. </p><p>He shouldered the bag and walked back to the castle, leaving a bodyguard with orders to watch over Chauncley, who could as easily wind up sleeping in a ditch as some peasant girl’s bed. The castle seemed to swallow up both light and sound at this hour, emitting a sense of silence so intense it became unnerving, not unlike the man whose lion crest emblazoned every flag. </p><p>These days he navigated more easily to the king’s chambers than his own. The fire there never went out and it felt a little more like home than his bare room, which was little more than a place to shiver and sleep between plans and plots. The king himself wasn’t there - for a big man who sent ripples of fear wherever he went, Cragnoor could disappear with impressive ease - so Vexler dumped his bag, eased off his boots, and settled into one of the over-sized armchairs by the fire. On some miserable winter days they’d play chess here, listening to the rain and hail, until Cragnoor inevitably beat him handily and took his pleasure from Vexler’s more-than-willing body. On this occasion Vexler took out the only thing he’d gained from the music festival, lit it from the fire, and settled in for a long wait. </p><p>“What am I expected to make of this tableau?”</p><p>Months of close companionship had made it just a little easier to detect a note of humor beneath the king’s generally inscrutable exterior. Vexler smiled, offering Cragnoor the opium pipe. “Where have you been?”</p><p>“Training.”</p><p>“Training. Is that when you beat teenagers with sticks and laugh at them when they fall over?”</p><p>Cragnoor held his gaze for a moment, then turned away, unbuckling his cloak. “I believe you’ve grasped the finer points of my strategy. Why is there a skull on my pillow?”</p><p>“Oh. Chauncley did that.” Vexler had to focus to keep a tight grasp on his words and train of thought. Opium was a bad idea around Cragnoor, who was not only fiercely intelligent but wildly unpredictable. However, on the positive side, opium also kept him from feeling too concerned about the many possible pitfalls. </p><p>“Chauncley.” Cragnoor pulled off his gloves, thumb tracing the fairly pathetic hole Chauncley had managed to make. Well, pathetic so long as it wasn’t your skull. “Intentionally?”</p><p>“He threatened someone… By all the gods and all the demons. You would’ve been so proud.”</p><p>“Would I?” No matter how close they became, how many nights Vexler spent in his bed, there would always be that note of warning, that reminder that this was the king, a man who had made his name through the blood of thousands. </p><p>“You could try pride sometime, your grace. You might like it.”</p><p>Perhaps this was part of what he loved so much about his nights with the king - the thrill of fear that went through his bones at every dangerously impertinent remark and unstudied gesture. It was like living with a tiger, confident only that he’d never been mauled in the past, and hoping that said something about the future. </p><p>Cragnoor finally plucked the pipe from his fingers. “This shit makes you sloppy, Chris.”</p><p>“It’s the middle of the night. I was at a music festival. I’m supposed to be sloppy. You’d feel better if you were too. And you should’ve come to the festival. It was fun, everyone loved it. Or are you going to pretend you hate music too? I know what you princes are like. You probably play the lute and sing like an angel.”</p><p>“Or I play the lute like an angel who only ever took harp lessons. Are you going to tell me what’s eating at you, or would you prefer a skull to crush?”</p><p>Vexler made himself stop, although so many words were ready to spill out. The king could indeed be patient and tolerant, but he’d also been bathed in his relatives’ blood only days ago. “My apologies, your grace. I misspoke. Of course it is never my place to tell you-”</p><p>“Chris, tell me what’s on your mind or I’ll choke it out of you.” Cragnoor dropped into the other armchair with a weary smile, tackling the many ties and buckles of his clothes. “That is, if threats make you more comfortable.”</p><p>Threats were easier, certainly. You knew where you were with threats. “The prince said some nice things about the peasants. Things I’ve wished you would say. You’re always so angry at us. Ignorant and mud-caked, you said…”</p><p>“You’re far from ignorant. And usually clean, before I make a mess out of you.”</p><p>“I’m not just talking about myself. They’re your people. Good people, most of them. And they could <em>love</em> you. You could love them.”</p><p>He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in Cragnoor’s dark eyes. “I have spent my life putting my sword and my body between them and countless massed armies. It is only by my blood and the blood of those who have served and died by my side that they even have the chance to breathe air. Love them? I resent them. And all their fucking ignorance that makes them whine to my son about how much it sucks not being locked in Valdrogian cages or strung up by bandits. And all his fucking ignorance that makes him care.”</p><p>Vexler waited. The door was there, but the king was usually far more explicit when throwing people out, and the cold castle beyond seemed to offer no consolation. “I think,” he said finally, “you need to smoke that more than I do.”</p><p>Cragnoor inspected the pipe like a monk studying some curious ancient relic. His shirt had fallen open, revealing a strip of pale skin from neck to hips. “You want me to get high and sleepy and stupid?”</p><p>“Yeah, I really do. Because I don’t see any bandits or Valdrogians lurking around this room. Plus I’ve been thinking about you blowing me all day, and with the mood you’re in right now that obviously isn’t happening.”</p><p>“Mood? I’m in a wonderful mood. Taught some cocky young butcher’s boy where his kidneys are and why he’ll be pissing blood in the morning.” Cragnoor sighed and took a draw on the pipe, breathing out smoke that Vexler badly wanted to taste. “Don’t ever lecture me about loving peasants again. You, Lord Vexler, are as close as I’ll ever get.”</p><p>Opium often made him feel like he was floating, but Vexler would have sworn it was those words that meant his feet didn’t touch the floor before he was straddling Cragnoor in that big chair, kissing bitter smoke from his lips and pulling that black shirt right off. “Say it again,” he demanded, low and breathless, but Cragnoor only laughed and kissed him, fingers tightening in his hair as Vexler’s cock stirred and filled, cramped in his trousers.</p><p>He could never help but be surprised by the way his king liked to kiss him: intense and deep, yes, but also sweet and clever, taking his time, licking along the roof of Vexler’s mouth in a way that tickled and tingled, leaving his lips wet and smeared. Vexler hadn’t personally observed how soldiers gave each other a little relief on months-long campaigns, but he assumed it involved more rough-and-ready handjobs than lingering kisses.</p><p>“You feel it, huh?” Vexler murmured as Cragnoor took another draw on the pipe, his eyes closing for a moment as his breaths became deeper, slower. “Relax, it’s good. Don’t fight it.”</p><p>“In the morning,” Cragnoor said, forming his words with great care and tossing the pipe into the fire with pinpoint accuracy, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you cry.”</p><p>“I’m going to hold you to that. Also I’m claiming that pipe on my expense account.”</p><p>It was probably his imagination, but as Cragnoor lifted him back onto his feet and they kissed on the rug by the fire, shedding clothes all around them, it felt like the opium had been released rather than destroyed in the flames, filling their atmosphere and making his spirits soar.</p><p>“When are you going to let me fuck you?” Vexler said, a hand cupped around the back of Cragnoor’s neck, making him lean down close enough to kiss. It was clearly a night for bravery and taking every shot he could.</p><p>Cragnoor smiled one of his secretly amused little smiles. “It’s not done.”</p><p>“It’s not… What’s not done?” Vexler’s free hand was busy exploring the familiar, solid lines of Cragnoor’s chest, his nipples, the tantalizing trail of hair from his belly down into the underwear that fell away all too easily.</p><p>“Lords don’t penetrate kings.”</p><p>Vexler frowned a little, trying to parse Cragnoor’s tone, which seemed less like an objection and more like he was repeating something by rote from a copybook. “Says who?”</p><p>“The Romans had very clear thoughts on this matter.” Whatever Cragnoor’s thoughts, they apparently involved getting his big, sword-calloused hands on Vexler’s ass and pulling him in tight, so that the bulge in Vexler’s trousers rubbed in frustrating relief against Cragnoor’s thigh. </p><p>“Yeah well we’re… We’re not Romans.” Vexler’s breath was coming in pants now as he rocked into Cragnoor’s body. He badly wanted to get to the bed, where his lover being a goddamn colossus might not matter so much, but his cock wasn’t one for long-term plans. “Who told you that? <em>A Modern Prince’s Good Sex Guide</em>?”</p><p>“I had a tutor who was something of an expert in these matters.”</p><p>“Did he fuck you?” Vexler asked, or tried to, because then he was flat on his back on the bed, having been lifted or tossed there by Cragnoor, his head swimming and his cock so hard he felt like the rest of him might break apart. </p><p>“Kings don’t get fucked by lords. But students do get fucked by tutors, and soldiers by captains…” </p><p>Vexler squinted up at him as Cragnoor briskly pulled away the rest of his clothes. It was like trying to track expenses on an abacus while a prince droned on in your ear about the social lives of ducks. “And friends by other friends. So how hard and fast are you going to come with my cock in your ass, Ethan?”</p><p>Arousal was a wonderful drug, almost as good as opium, and his cock was beautifully insensible to the chill of terror that went up his spine in the seconds after those words left his mouth. Cragnoor’s back was to the fire, his eyes lost in shadow, and Vexler almost flinched in anticipation of that hair-trigger switch that inevitably led to screaming and clashing steel and trying to get blood out of his best tunic. But what he could see was the steady rise and fall of Cragnoor's chest, and his hand tugging on his lovely stiff cock. </p><p>“It’s been a while,” the king said finally, but by then he already had oil in his hand and Vexler was seriously concerned he might come all over himself without even being touched. </p><p>“I’ll take care of you,” Vexler said quickly, willing to say or do anything to keep this night heading in a direction he’d never really dared hope it might take.</p><p>Cragnoor smiled. “I’ll take care of myself.”</p><p>He began to regret the opium somewhere between being half-crushed between Cragnoor’s big, solid body and a bed of fine linens, and the moment Cragnoor grabbed his cock and eased back onto it with a wince and a sigh. It was so perfect it seemed unreal, tinged with the unnatural euphoria lining his bloodstream, and all Vexler wanted to do was touch him, to feel him, to anchor himself in the utter insanity of a reality where the king was straddling him, riding his cock, and making <em>noises</em> that Vexler would exchange a thousand music festivals for.</p><p>“You’re perfect,” he said, hands tentative over Cragnoor’s thighs, deliberately avoiding the impressively rock-hard cock bobbing between them as it kissed his sternum. “This is perfect. My king…” He was moving his hips slowly, rocking upward in a steady rhythm that echoed Cragnoor’s movements. Fuck what he wouldn’t give to see himself fucking the king, but this was fine too. More than fine, as his hands ventured upward, over smooth, warm skin that never failed to seem alarmingly pale in contrast to his own, like Cragnoor’s people were from distant lands of ice and darkness. </p><p>Cragnoor’s eyes, when he opened them, seemed almost amber in the light of the fire. “Chris,” he said, his ass clenching tight around Vexler’s cock, “I’m going to need it harder than that.”</p><p>“You’re all about hard, aren’t you?” Vexler planted his feet flat and thrust up, meeting a groan of satisfaction as Cragnoor’s eyes fluttered closed again. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this all along, haven’t you? My king, my hero, you could have anything in the world and what you want is this, me fucking every last drop of come out of you.”</p><p>Cragnoor’s breath stuttered in what Vexler took as agreement, tantalizing droplets of pre-come beading at the head of his swollen cock. </p><p>“And tomorrow? You’re going to feel the ache of me deep inside you all day long.” Vexler could barely breathe, but the words kept on coming just as the pressure built inside him, licking along his thighs, gripping his balls. “Because you’re mine, my king, with my seed dripping out of you…”</p><p>Cragnoor’s only answer was a deep, guttural moan, while Vexler gripped his hips tightly and forgot about rhythm or force or anything but surrendering to the deliciously tight heat of Cragnoor’s body.</p><p>His climax crashed into him like a tidal wave, liquid and intense and knocking the breath out of him, which was all just fine because there was no way he could hope to form words beyond primal gasps and cries.</p><p>By the time he got enough breath back into his lungs to stop his head from spinning, he found that Cragnoor had come in long white spurts over his chest, and that too was perfect, perfect enough that he didn’t care when Cragnoor leaned in and kissed him and stole his breath again. “There’s your answer,” Cragnoor said, irritatingly alert and coherent, his eyes bright. “That hard and fast.”</p><p>Vexler thought that if there were any gods at all, they would let him die now and live in this moment forever. </p><p>Whether it was minutes or hours later, he couldn’t be sure, but he was a little less sticky and oily, and very much wrapped up in the arms of his king in a room that still smelled suspiciously impure. “Okay?” he mumbled, half into a pillow.</p><p>“You should get some sleep,” Cragnoor said. “You’ve got a rough morning ahead of you.”</p><p>Vexler breathed out a blissful chuckle and pulled Cragnoor’s arm tighter to him. “Do you ever fantasize about… I don’t know, having a little farm out somewhere beyond the mountains, where it’s quiet and peaceful, and we could forget about wars and assassinations and just <em>live</em>?”</p><p>“Yes, I frequently long for a life of manual labor from dawn till dusk,” Cragnoor said in tones that could hardly be weighed down by any more sarcasm. “Being stolen from by marauding mercenaries, beaten by passing armies, and executed by the Papists as a sodomite? I’ll take my chances wearing the crown.”</p><p>Vexler couldn't help but to roll his eyes. “You’re not very good at this ‘fantasy’ concept, are you? All I’m saying is it would be good to fuck a lot and have a nice view and call each other by our real names without all these airs and titles.”</p><p>“Two out of three isn’t bad.” And before Vexler could ask whether that was some kind of tacit permission to use his given name or a defense of Lower Murkford's picturesque charms, he continued: “I didn’t know if you remembered… who I was before.”</p><p>“I didn’t remember. I was a kid. But I’ve read every book in your library twice, and I’ve looked pretty closely at all the portraits. So yeah, I know who my king is and who I’m fucking.”</p><p>“Mm.” Cragnoor's breath was hot on his neck, then his lips soft and teasing. “Maybe you’ll tell me sometime.”</p>
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